


Recovery

by the_dala



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Bedside Vigils, Injury, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-06
Updated: 2013-06-06
Packaged: 2017-12-14 04:08:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/832548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_dala/pseuds/the_dala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You know, a casual observer might think you actually give a damn,” says Kirk with a quirk of his mouth, despite his obvious discomfort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Recovery

**Author's Note:**

> Archiving my old Star Trek fic from Livejournal - this was originally published May 14th, 2009.

There is no logical reason for Spock to remain here. Doctor McCoy left some time ago. Dark shadows rimmed his eyes, but otherwise his face had lost the pinched look it had worn since they’d gotten the landing party back onboard. He declared the captain to be out of immediate danger, called him a stupid sorry bastard, and stumbled off for a few hours of sleep. Spock has no real need to do the same, but he is acting captain while Kirk is incapacitated. The crew would expect to find him on the bridge at this hour anyway, should his attention be required. By all reasoning, he ought to return to his place and leave Kirk in the hands of the medical professionals who have done so much to preserve life today.

Yet here he sits in sick bay, staring at the quietly beeping monitors above the bed. His presence has no effect on the patient’s physiological state; he might as well be part of the furnishings. If he wished, he could ask the nurse on duty to monitor his captain’s vitals and contact Spock the moment there is a change.

He feels a sudden desire to put his hand on the man’s breast, over his heart, and suppresses it with some effort. He can see from the monitors that Kirk’s heart is beating at an acceptable rate, though it’s a bit sluggish. Any comfort Kirk might take from the gesture is void, since he is soundly asleep.

Spock watches the shallow rise and fall of his chest, listens to the quiet, steady rhythm of the lungs. Such a fragile construction, the respiratory system, and yet he finds such beauty in its function.

As though he can feel Spock’s gaze, Kirk stirs. His chapped lips part and his eyes open. To Spock’s relief, his vision immediately focuses and he blinks.

Spock inhales and it feels like the first full breath he has drawn in hours, which he knows is simply untrue.

“Hey,” says Kirk groggily, then, “Ow. The fuck?”

Spock’s voice is cool and clinical, as if he were the captain’s personal physician. “You have sustained numerous injuries, notably to your head and abdomen.” Kirk grimaces, no doubt feeling the pain from a fractured skull and the the ugly wound in his side. It will heal, but slowly. And he will always have the scar, which will no doubt become a point of pride.

“The blood –” He swallows. He had never seen a human being turn so pale. “You lost several pints of blood before we could retrieve you, which is often catastrophic to the human body.” The blunder in speech is unusual for him, and he can see in Kirk’s eyes that it did not go unnoticed.

“You know, a casual observer might think you actually give a damn,” says Kirk with a quirk of his mouth, despite his obvious discomfort.

Spock does not reply, primarily because he doesn’t entirely trust himself to speak. He brushes his knuckles against Kirk’s brow, half of which is heavily bandaged. The equipment cites his temperature as 99.1 degrees Fahrenheit. It’s an accurate reading, although the skin seems slightly warmer to the touch. But then, Kirk always feels warmer than other humans.

“So did I win?”

The man’s nerve astounds him. A human second-in-command would have shouted. Spock’s voice would be level, but even so, he ought to berate Kirk for beaming down to an unknown planet before proper reconnaissance could be conducted. Even if they hadn’t realized the distress signal was falsified until the landing party had already departed, his insistence on going himself had put the whole party in danger. After the band of alien beings had taken him hostage, he had then allowed their leader to bait him into attacking. Apparently it had gloated about stripping the _Enterprise_ down in order to sell the parts off-world. The beings’ crops had failed and they committed a grave error in their desperation; anyone else would have tried to open negotiations in the face of obvious suffering and a paltry fighting force.

Not Jim Kirk. His emotional response to the threat had been entirely disproportionate to the odds of it actually being carried out. He struck out in anger, and retribution had been swift and brutal.

Objectively speaking it is an important lesson for a young commander to learn, and part of Spock’s job is to drive the point home. Aside from philosophical considerations about contact and harmony, the medical personnel need to be notified that the patient is awake, alert, and appears to have sustained none of the brain damage they had feared – although Spock does not possess the training to assess his condition fully, and anyway he’s not certain he would be able to discern any difference from the captain’s usual state of mind.

In the end Spock carries out neither of these obligations. The alarms will go off once Kirk so much as raises an arm, sending McCoy running. He can make time later to debrief the captain who ordered this near-disaster of a mission.

For now it’s just the two of them. He runs his fingertips along Kirk’s rough, stubbled cheek – to check for nothing, he would be forced to admit if queried. Just to touch him. He can feel the familiar pattern of Kirk’s thoughts, though he does not probe their meaning; and only then is he finally, irrationally reassured.

“The outcome,” he says quietly, “was satisfactory.”


End file.
